Someone said to me today that there is nothing worse than a Summer cold. I politely beg to differ. The top 2 things on my list of things that are worse than a Summer cold are, not in any particular order, mouth syphilis and people who say really f@cking stupid things.
I accidentally dropped my chapstick in the toilet and didn’t want it to go to waste so I pulled it out of the toilet, dried it off with my blowdryer, and gave it to homeless person. How perfect in that I’ve given someone the cure for chapped lips and in all likelihood, the fresh urine scent will be a vast improvement over the aged urine scent that homeless lips usually smell like. Go me!
A radio commercial used the phrase – a crack or dent in my windshield –
I mistakenly thought they said – a crack whore dented my windshield –
Is that like the most hilarious mix up you’ve ever heard of in your whole life or what!? The people who made the commercial should really consider changing it because when I heard about what the crack whore had done, I was truly interested to see what would happen next. For a brief moment I was enthralled. If it turns out that the next thing that happens after your windshield gets walloped by a bitter crack whore who is upset that you didn’t pay her the agreed upon 8 dollars is that Papi Glass fixes your windshield, that might not be bad advertising. If during the next day I have some homeless guy put a hole in my windshield with his chapstick, I would probably think to myself I’m gonna call Papi Glass, seeing as how they fixed that windshield busted up by that destructive crack whore.
There was a big lightning storm yesterday and Wal-Mart went on lockdown mode, not allowing anyone to leave, and someone I know was one of the unlucky souls trapped inside. I’d seriously rather get trapped inside a 10-foot wide hairy yeasty crabby hippievagina than be stuck inside of Wal-Mart. Waking up inside of one of Jigsaws masterpieces with my only escape being to eat both my eyeballs and lower balls would be like a trip to Club Med compared to being stuck in a Wal-Mart. To your left you’d have greeters trying to start conversations with you and to your right you’d have some 16 year-old who didn’t know she was pregnant pop out a few babies right on the floor. You would have no choice but to speak to the 106 year-old half-retarded hunchback or you’d end up slipping and falling face first into a puddle of newborn baby fluids. At least they sell guns if the lockdown goes on for more than 3 or 4 minutes and you just want to end it all.